In the Flat Above
by Little Luxa
Summary: Darcy Lent loves to deduct the world around her, but never met someone that loved it as much as herself. That was until she moved into 221c and met the two men in the flat above her own, who whisked her away to help them with stopping a serial killer. Slight Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The woman downstairs**

"Brilliant!" Sherlock jumped in the air, clearly excited by the news. "Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas. Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

The sweet older lady huffed, "I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do," he continued, not even listening to her. "John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

John watched silently as Sherlock swiftly put on his trenchcoat and looped his scarf before marching out the door. Never thought I'd had such a charismatic flat mate, he mused to himself. Nor did he think he'd find one with such deductive skills that the man knew more about him in a minute then he'd learned about Sherlock since he met him.

"Look at him, dashing about... My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" John shouted, a bit frustrated at feeling so useless "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing..."

"I understand, dear, I've got a hip."

John opened up the day's newspaper, looking at the article of the three suicides, "Cup of tea'd be lovely. Thank you."

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them," he started to settle into chair.

"Not your housekeeper!" she called back to him from the kitchen.

"You're a doctor. Actually, you're an Army doctor."

"Yes," John said, not a beat off as he looked up at his new flatmate who was standing in the doorway. He was very tall and spindly, the curls piled on top of his head making him even taller. Sherlock looked at him, wondering to himself if this was a good idea.

"Any good?"

"Very good," he briskly confirmed as he stood.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths." Sherlock noted, a glint in his eyes, as if he'd just gotten a new idea.

"Well, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet?" He now stalked over to the doctor, coat fluttering behind him.

"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime," John said somberly, " far too much."

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh, God, yes," John breathed and then followed Sherlock down the stairs, "Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out."

"Both of you?" She called, rushing down the stairs after them.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? Not point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock exclaimed giddily as he pecked Mrs. Hudson of her cheek.

"Look at you," she gave a small smile, "all happy. It's not decent."

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

Shutting the door hurriedly, Sherlock walked out into the daylight, John in tow. With a wave and a shout for a taxi, they soon were boarding the cab, ready for an adventure. Both of them unaware of the women walking down the street, head down, burning her eyes into a scrap of paper.

"Where is it?" she muttered, tilting her black newsboy cap back. She looked at every door number, wondering if maybe she missed it.

"Oi, watch it!"

She stepped out of the way of a burly middle aged man. A butcher, telling from the specks of fat and gristle on the front of his shirt, which also had a bit of cat hair on it, a tabby. He lived alone, since his shirt was dreadfully wrinkled and his leather shoes were in dreadful condition. However, she narrowed her eyes, she could see a small bruise on his neck, made by a young woman with red lipstick. An affair, of course.

"Sorry sir," she called after making all her deductions in a minute.

He merely made a gruff noise and left her standing there. How rude, she thought in distaste, looking at the next door. She grinned and crumpled the piece of paper in her hand, seeing it was her destination, 221b Baker Street.

"I'm coming," Mrs. Hudson called, hearing a knock on the door, "I'm surprised to see you back already, Sher-"

"Good afternoon, are you Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes," her face turned a light pink, "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

"It's perfectly fine," she assured, as she silently observed the older women. She'd been baking, recently, with that much flour grains on her hands. Married once, but the ring wasn't there and only a light scar was left. Clearly she had left him (or did he die?), with no sentimental jewelry on, just a simple flowery dress which was a little out of date. Hip problem too by her posture.

"How can I help you, dear?"

"I'm looking for an apartment to rent. I was asking around my old neighborhood, and a woman named April directed me here."

"Oh yes, I know April, such a dear. I play bingo with her on Sundays. Do come in, but I didn't catch your name. "

"Darcy, Darcy Lent."

Mrs. Hudson smiled and ushered her into what could only be a mud room. There was dirt on the rug, footprints of two men, one with a limp, the other with rather large feet. Darcy shuffled in, strands of brown hair spilling out from her bun as she walked.

"Please, come into the kitchen, I'll put the kettle on."

Darcy sat down in a chair, manufactured around 10 years ago by the look of the chipped wood and watched as Mrs. Hudson scurried around the kitchen, "So, you still have a flat open?"

She nodded, "Yes, but it's very small and in poor shape. One bed and bath, a kitchenette, and a living room. All downstairs, of course. Are you sure that would be alright?"

"Indeed of course. Perfect. I love me a fix me up. I promise I won't be a disturbance to the two men upstairs, also."

"How'd you know about them?"

Darcy gave a tight smile, "Observation, Mrs. Hudson."

"My goodness, you sound just like Sherlock."

"I assume that's one of the men from upstairs," she stated before thanking the landlady for the tea. Mrs. Hudson nodded, telling the silent woman that Sherlock had recently gotten himself a flat mate of his own that was a little older than him. Most likely the man with the limp, Darcy thought to herself, inwardly.

"I'll take it."

"You will? That is wonderful! No one else has wanted it. It'll be lovely to have another women in the house."

"I have my trunk in my car, parked a block away. I do hope I can move in as soon as possible."

"Of course, of course, dear. Now here's your key and your contract. If you need anything, just tell me. Rent's a due at the end of the month."

Darcy read and signed the contract quickly, pocketed the key, and politely thanked Mrs. Hudson before leaving.

"What a strange one," she murmured as she waved to Darcy. The woman was clever, anti social, and too much like Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson wondered what it would be like to have two Sherlock's around. No, Darcy must just be nervous, shy. Not another Sherlock. At least Mrs. Hudson hoped she wasn't.

Darcy Lent didn't mind her new flat. Sure, the pipes were dreadful, the wallpaper was peeling and she knew with out a doubt that owner before must have been a drug addict. Yet she like it, and the landlady was quite nice.

"Miss, where would you like the last piece to go?" she looked up from her table to see one of the two moving men there with a red leather chair.

"Across the white couch and coffee table would be good."

The man nodded and set it down, only to hold a clipboard out for her.

"Just sign please, miss."

"Of course," she took it and signed it. The man took it and started to leave, "and say hello to your new baby from me."

"How did-"

"Bloodshot eyes and powered baby formula of the back of your shirt, of course you have an infant child. Anyone could see it. Ta!"

The man grew pale and fled, racing up the stairs. Darcy huffed and collapsed on her couch. It took two hours to get her furniture in and she still needed to unpack boxes. Luckily, she'd gotten the day off to unpack before she had to go to work.

"Boring..." she sighed to herself before sitting up. Darcy stood up, perhaps she could find a way to get to the roof. She loved to look at the stars. They didn't need to be figured out, like the people she met, they were just stars. Sure they had named, but those weren't useful for her, a girl that was always practical.

"Big balls of burning gases," she corrected herself as she walked up the steps and opened the door, only to run into someone.

"I'm so sorry!"

Darcy regain her balance, looking at the man she'd crashed into. He had a fuzzy cream jumper on and was looking at her with concern. The man also had a cane.  
"You have no need to apologize," she quietly drawled, "I'm new to this, just like you are."

"Excuse me, what?"

"You're the man with a cane. You just moved in with some man named Sherlock upstairs, at least this is all according to Mrs. Hudson. However she didn't tell me much else. I am new here also, by the way."

"Wow, umm, I'm Dr. John Watson. I didn't know anyone else lived here," they shook eachother's hand.

"I'm Darcy Lent and I told you, I'm new. I've lived downstairs since around an hour ago. Now tell me, John," they both had started to walk up the stairs without realizing it, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

He sputtered, "Afghanistan."

"Mmm, Afghanistan. You do have the posture, tan and haircut of a man from the army in Afghanistan. You were a doctor there, I presume. Sent back home, no doubt because of some injury, which also led to that limp in your leg that's psychosomatic. At least I am pretty sure it is."

"Now, that is... amazing. My flat mate, he told me the exact same thing."

Her lips quirked, "Funny that both you and Mrs. Hudson compare me to a man I haven't even met yet."

"Well, he's an odd one, a consulting detective for a living."

She tilted her head in confusion, "Made up his own job?"

"Yes," the doctor smiled and laughed at her words, "you should come up and meet him."

"I really shouldn't intrude."

"I insist! Please, it'd be lovely to have some company. I'm still new here, as you said, and I don't think he gets out a lot."

Darcy sighed, giving in, "Very well, Dr. Watson."

"Just call me John," he kindly told her as he fumbled with the door knob.

"Uh, thank you, John."

He nodded and walked in, Darcy preferring to lean on the wall. John looked back at her, wondering what her story was, how she came to be just as strange as his flat mate. She tipped her hat down a little bit, wisps of brown hair flying out into her face.

"I'm back," John said to the man on the couch.

Darcy looked at the pale figure, spread out on the couch, trying to make sense of him. Tall, curly hair, hands both in almost a mock of a prayer. Eyes were closed. She could find anything. It didn't make sense! Darcy had always been able to read others, but this man left her puzzled. She could tell that John used an electric razor, but nothing about the man named Sherlock. A man who she didn't know the last name of and had been compared to her.

Twice.

**AN: Yeah, it's lame and crappy, but I enjoyed writing it, being my first Sherlock Fic ever. Reviews are nice!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: A bit of brain in there**

"What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch," the man, Sherlock, gave an airy sigh as he showed his forearm, "Helps me to think. It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork."

"Well, it's a good news for breathing," John snipped.

"Ugh! Breathing, breathing's boring."

There was a women. In their apartment. Sherlock had heard a second pair of light footsteps and the smell of a soft perfume had notified him instantly, yet he still didn't understand why she was here. He'd never met her, she seemed too young to be a friend of Mrs. Hudson, and John appeared to know nothing about him either. She wore a black shirt and jeans, no shoes, a newsboy cap, hands in her pockets. Nothing much to give her away. Yet.

"Is that threes patches?"

"It's quite a three patch problem," he then covered them up again with his sleeve and shut his eyes once more. He breathed in deeply, wishing for silence for just a moment so he could return to his mind palace.

"Well? You asked me to come," I'm assuming it's important,"

Sherlock opened his eyes, hands clasped together in a mock of a prayer, "Oh yes! That's right. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" John asked in disbelief as he gave his mobile. A tinge of anger welled up on him too, upset that their new neighbor from downstairs had to see Sherlock like... well, himself. Not their new neighbor seemed care, by the neutral look on her face.

"I don't want to use mine, there's always a chance that my number will be recognized. It's on the website."

Website, what website? Darcy started to feel confused, sick to her stomach. Her mind was rushing trying to soak everything in at once. The messy apartment, the man on the couch. It was all too much for her.

"Mrs. Hudson has a phone."

"Yeah, but she's downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn't hear me."

I didn't hear you either, Darcy thought to herself, as she tried to remain calm and emotionless. What is going on?

"I was on the other side of London!"

"There was no hurry," he calmly told the Doctor, eyes on the woman, who was scanning the room. He wondering what she was thinking, her jaw set, face blank.

"So this is about the case, I'm assuming?"

"Her case," he muttered, not even opening his eyes. Actually, they were actually opened the slightest, so he could watch the woman a little more, who was still standing in the doorway, looking a bit queasy now.

"Her case?"

"Her suitcase. Yes, the murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake."

"OK, so what if he took her case?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it. There's a number on my desk. I want you to send a text."

"You brought me here to send a text?" John exclaimed in frustration, bothered at the menial task Sherlock wanted him to do. He wanted to yell that he'd been kidnapped for christ sake, but could not push the words out of his mouth.

"Yes, a text. The number's on my desk," he paused a beat before asking, "What's wrong?"

"I just met a friend of yours," John absentmindedly replied, looking out the window. The black car with Anthea was long gone, but he couldn't erase the memory of him meeting the man with an oily smile and a black umbrella.

"A friend?" he sounded confused and a tiny bit appalled at the idea. He didn't have friends, he didn't need friends.

"An enemy."

"Oh," then he relaxed to Darcy's surprise, "Which one?"

"Well, your archenemy, according to him,"

"Do people have archenemies?" she wondered aloud, but was ignored.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes," John admitted.

Darcy could help but ask,"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time," he dryly told his flat mate, shocking both John and Darcy.

"Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you have ever met and not my problem right now."

Darcy wondered who on earth that could be as Sherlock continued, "On my desk, the number."

Finally, John gave in and grabbed the scrap of paper.

"Jennifer Wilson..." he read aloud before saying, "Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes, that's not important. Just enter the number," John nodded and went to work, "Are you doing it?"

"He is," Darcy replied, seeing that Sherlock still hadn't noticed her whatsoever. Which, while wasn't bad, was quite annoying. Too many boring people ignored her, but when someone different came around, she wanted to be seen.

John looked up at her, a concerned look in his face, "You feeling alright? You look a bit nauseous."

"Fine, just had a long day."

Sherlock was getting impatient, "Have you done it?"

"Would you hold on!" John barked as he tapped the touch screen on his phone again.

"Put in these words exactly," he said in a measured tone, "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come."

"You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" Sherlock bounded out of the room, "Type and send it, quickly."

"What was the address again?"

"22 Northumberland Street," Darcy automatically replied at John's question.

"Hurry up!"

When he returned, Sherlock held a small pink suitcase. Muddy on the wheels, but still in good shape for a common over night suitcase. He set in on the coffee table before sitting in a chair and briskly zipped it open. Darcy floated over, looking at the contents. Middle aged woman, liked pink, only in town for a night or so.

"That's... the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case,"

"Yes, obviously," he replied and then rolled his eyes at the long pause. "I guess I should mention that I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did," John said, trying to defend himself. Darcy couldn't deny that the thought crossed her mind that this man seemed strange enough to murder someone and get away with it.

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" Darcy asked softly.

Sherlock looked directly at John as if he had asked, "Yes, every now and then."

John nodded, trying to take this all in as he also sat down, "OK. How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens," Darcy explained to John, "He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car."

"Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, especially a man, which is statistically more likely." she smirked as he talked, knowing where the man was going with this. She admitted to herself that he was very smart. Smarter than even her, possibly.

Sherlock went on, "So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the minute he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake."

"So, you checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed."

"It took me less than hour to find the right skip." he confirmed, nodding into space, not even looking at Darcy. Does he still not even know I'm here, she thought.

"You got all that because you realized that the case would be pink?" John uttered in sheer awe.

"Well it had to be pink, obviously," he drawled, as if it were obvious, which it was for Darcy.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John said to himself outloud.

"Because you're an idiot. No, no, don't be like that. Almost everyone is," he then pointed to the case full of things, "Now look, do you see what's missing?"

"How could I?"

"Her phone," Sherlock said "Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one. That's her number there, you just texted it."

"Well, maybe she left it at home,"

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it," Sherlock muttered, "She never leaves her phone at home."

"Why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is, where is her phone now?" Sherlock said, utterly ignoring John's question. Darcy tried to hide her laughter at John's miffed look.

"She could have lost it," John suggested, causing Darcy to roll her eyes. The murder must have it, the evidence shown clear as day.

"Yes, or...?"

"The murderer? You think the murderer has the phone?" John asked, starting to feel alarmed.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case or maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is that the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing?" John paused a moment before saying, "Did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?"

"A few hours after his last victim, and he receives a text that could only be from her," Darcy interrupted, quietly. "If anyone had just found that phone, they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." she smirked as the cell rang, "would panic!"

"Wait, who are you?" Sherlock stared at her, pretending confused at when this women came in to the picture. Truthfully, he'd been paying attention to her the whole time. She was, different, to say something. The girl caught on to his logic easily and had some deductive skills, more than half of Yard workers.

"I'm Darcy Lent."

"Darcy Lent," his eyebrows raised, "clearly your mother wanted a boy, so you could take over your father's company, Lent's Plastics."

"Mmm hmm, and my big sister was already a disappointment to them, so I was even more of a let down when I left. Of course, I'm not the only one with family problems here."

Sherlock gave her a thin smile, "Is that so?"

"Judging by the fact that your entire outfit cost more than this flat, I'd say it was a gift from a wealthy relative, a close one since clothing is rather sentimental. However, you are not the sentimental looking type, so I think the person bought you this as a joke. To mock you. But John said someone offered money to spy on you, which sounds like a nosy sibling, it's happened to me before too. Combined with the mockery of a present, I'd say it's a older male, a brother, that you don't get along with."

"Well, aren't you something, having a little bit of a brain in there, unlike most people."

"By that glower, I assume my guess was correct?" she said, standing right in front of him. Sherlock almost gave a smirk, but just stared for a moment, noting she was uncomfortable at their proximity.

"Indeed. Then again, I can tell your left handed, go to the Public Library on every Thursday like clock work, and having problems with your new contacts by Just looking at you up close for a moment," he looked down at her darkly. "Also, you think you're clever, clever enough to show off to me, which either means you are a bit clever or you are the most stupidest person I have ever met."

"I guess only time will tell that, eh?"

John awkwardly coughed, wanting the them to remember they weren't alone, "Have you talked to the police?"

Sherlock blinked and went back to work, "Four people are dead, there's no time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to us?"

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull," he sadly glanced at the mantle of the fireplace, causing Darcy to grin for once, which Sherlock saw out of the corner of her eye. It pleased him, in an odd way.

"So we are basically filling in for your skull?" John huffed.

"Relax, you're doing fine. Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well you could just sit there and watch telly or whatever it is people do, or..." he paused, knowing he had baited the doctor. All he had to do was wait a moment.

"What, you want me to come with you?"

Sherlock put on his coat and slightly nodded, "I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention. Problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan,"

"Who?" Darcy blankly asked.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked at the same time as Darcy's question.

"She said you get off on this," he replied, "That you enjoy it."

He smirked at his words, "And I said 'dangerous', and here you are."

Darcy couldn't help but see that the two men looked each other fondly as they said their little inside jokes. According to Mrs. Hudson, they had just met today, but Darcy could tell they already had bonded a lot. I ought to leave, She thought to herself, slowly backing away and turned around.

"Will you join us?"

She froze, "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you will come and join us. Now come, on" Sherlock practically demanded, "or else we will be late. I wouldn't mind another somewhat intelligent person on this case, even if they show off too much."

"You're a show off," she snapped at him.

"I'm not denying that. Well, are you coming or not?"

Darcy closed her eyes. A strange murder case she didn't know a lot about, a kind doctor from the Army, and a strange but brilliant man with deduction skills better then her own. She turned around, with a sparkle in her eyes, "Wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Well then, come on you two."

"Dammit!" John grumbled as he slowly got up with the help of his cane as both Sherlock and Darcy strolled out. Darcy back came to his aid, much to his embarrassment, not wanting the new girl to think he was a useless cripple. He tried to shake her off, but she gave a slip of a smile, and helped him up anyways, with a hand of his back.

"You're flatmate is something else, John."

"A brilliant man that's a bit of a pain in the arse?"

She chuckled, "Indeed, I honestly thought he would ever notice me, though. However, now he thinks I might be a show off that has some wits about her."

"He's like that."

"Most people act that way to me," she told him as they hurried down the stairs, "since you know, I'm rather clever and such. I was kinda like, I dunno, wallpaper that deducts everything it can."

"You do know that you just compared yourself to wallpaper, right?"

"Of course I did, Watson. But that was yesterday. I'm not wallpaper right now, I'm helping two men solve a murder case," she grinned and slipped on her black shoes.

"That makes a difference, eh?" he remarked as he shut the door. They both were trying to keep up with Sherlock's long strides, with their shorter legs, and of course, John's cane.

"It makes all the difference in the world, John, and that is just fantastic."

**Luxa: Thank you, justiceintheworldofhp-yearight, for being my only reviewer! It totally made my day :) Reviews would be nice!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: A whole lot of running**

"This is his hunting ground," Sherlock turned around them in 360 degrees as he spoke. "Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go."

Darcy met up with his pace, "So obviously it's someone people are used to and no one really notices."

"Yes, now, think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"I don't know. Who?" John asked.

"I don't have the slightest idea," he replied, making Darcy scoff. Giving her a dirty look, Sherlock started to sharply turn, "Hungry?"

The cafe was dimly lighted as the three entered, fairly quiet too. Seemed like a place that Sherlock would eat at, Darcy thought to herself. Instantly, a waiter by the door gestured to the table right next to the window, the perfect place to look out onto the street. Sherlock thanked him and started to take off his coat, right before sitting down in the chair. John and Darcy then sat in the booth snugly, both facing away from the window, which disappointed her, since she was starting to get excited.

"22 Northumberland Street, keep your eyes on it."

A little hard to do that, she thought to herself.

"Well, he's not just going to ring the doorbell is he?" John said, "He'd have to be mad."

"He has killed four people,"

"True," Darcy smirked, "but I don't think he'll use a door bell, since there isn't one at this cafe.

Sherlock smirked at this, before a large man waddled over, "Sherlock," he said, shaking his hand, "Anything on the menu. Whatever you want, free."

He handed out menus. "On the house for you and for your date."

"Do you want to eat? Sherlock asked, not even listening to the burly man announce that John must be his date.

"I'm not his date."

"I'm here too," Darcy piped up, seeing that they were giving only two menus, "if anyone cares."

"This man got me off a murder charge."

"This is Angelo," Sherlock stared out the window, clearly not finding this interesting, "Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a rather vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a completely different part of town house-breaking."

"He cleared my name."

"I cleared it a bit," Sherlock clarified, causing Darcy to softly laugh into the palm of her hand. "Anything happening opposite?"

"Nope. Nothing." he looked at John and shook his hand. "If it weren't for this man, I would have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison," Darcy pointedly said, disliking the fact the she was being ignored.

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic," Angelo said, with a wink, before walking away.

John called after the man, firmly, "I'm not his date!"

"There is three of us here, after all."

"Guess you were right about the wallpaper comparison. Sorry bout that," John admitted, making her grin at him. Giving a small shrug, Darcy put up her menu, ignoring the looks she was getting from Sherlock. Most likely since he had no idea what John had meant about the wallpaper.

"You two might as well eat," Sherlock murmured as he looked out the window once more, "We might have a long wait."

Darcy shrugged, "Not hungry."

"People don't have archenemies," John changed the topic after a moment of rest.

"Sorry?"

"In real life," John continued, "There are no archenemies in real life. I just doesn't happen."

"Really? Sounds a bit dull."

Darcy couldn't help but agree with Sherlock. Who wouldn't want to have an archenemy and solve murder mysteries? It sounded just like it was out of one of the murder mysteries she loved to curl up with, when she was a kid, of course. Absentmindedly, she tapped a rhythm with her fingers

"So who did I meet?" John asked

"What do people have in their "real lives"?" he asked, trying to ignored the question sent at him. Telling from the look in Darcy's eyes, she too had known that he'd just deflected the question.

"Friends," John informed him, "You know, people that they like, people they don't like, boyfriends, girlfriends."

"Right. Like I was saying: Dull," he drawled.

"So you don't have a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? No. Not really my area."

Darcy finally looked over her menu at the men, who both looked uncomfortable. Sherlock glanced at her, silently giving her a look to help him out. She merely shook her head slightly, telling him she wanted no part in this, with made him scowl. He didn't want to talk about such a meaningless topic, when there where more important one, ones that could help him unravel more about her.

"Right... Do you have a boyfriend?" John asked, "Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine," Sherlock replied.

John simply nodded at this, "So you've got a boyfriend?"

"No."

"OK. So, you're unattached... like I am. Right. Good. Fine."

"Look, John," Sherlock seriously, "I think that you should know that I consider myself, well, married to my work. And while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm not-"

No. No. I'm not asking- no," John looked deeply embarrassed and flustered, "I was only saying... it's all fine."

"Good... Thank you."

John finally turned over to the women who practically had her face buried into the menu sheet now, "What about you, Darcy?"

"Uh..."

"Look across the street," Sherlock said, gesturing with a nod of his head, "Taxi stopped and nobody's getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

"That's him?"

"Don't stare," Darcy hissed, tugging on the wrist of John's sweater to make him listen to her.

"But Sherlock's staring," John pointedly told her.

"We can't all stare."

Suddenly, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out. Dracy quickly filed after him a beat later, smiling when she saw out of the corner of her eye that John was following her, but without his cane. Somehow, the thrill of possible adventure made him totally forget about his limp.

When they where finally outside, Sherlock fumbled with his coat, grey eyes utterly focused on the taxi. Darcy could see a man staring at them from the back of the cab, before he turned away and the taxi started off. It must be him. Sherlock also had thought this, and before Darcy could even blink, had started to run out into the road, only to hit a car.

"Sorry!"

"Oh, for the love of god!" Darcy shouted as the car honked at them as John and herself climb over the car to chase after Sherlock.

"I've got the cab number."

"Good for you," Sherlock said as he put his hands to his head, eyes closed. There was a pause before he said outloud, "Right turn, one way, roadwork, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights."

Darcy swore she felt her heart stop, a mere moment after he had started, she'd been creating a map in her own head.  
It didn't mater anymore though, as they started to run, through a building, up the stairs and onto the roof. Her heart pounding as they lept rooftop to rooftop. When a larger gap between the buildings appeared, Darcy and Sherlock jumped with ease, John help back.

"Come on, John! We're losing him!"

John finally did it, and they were off again. Climbing down and running back through the streets. Darcy's's mind was racing, according Sherlock's earlier word, the cab should be...

"It should be turning onto Poland street very soon now!" she shouted.

They had run fast, but the cab had just crossed their path too soon. Sherlock then turned to the right. Ah, she smiled, a detour.

"This way," she turned to John behind her.

Poor John had no idea they had changed course though and started to go left.

"No, this way!" Sherlock shouted at a very confused John

"Sorry!"

They ran down several more streets, turning what seemed to be random corners, but Darcy knew that Sherlock must know how to cut them off. Finally, Sherlock dashed out of the ally way and right into the path of the cab, stopping it.

Darcy groaned, "What is with you and running into cabs?"

"Police! Open her up!" he demanded, pounding on the door, out of breath.

"Stay calm, Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock growled when the door finally opened. "Teeth, tan. What, Californian? LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"The luggage," Sherlock pointed to the tag on it.

"This is probably your first trip to London, right? Judging by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you." Darcy tried to kindly ask, still upset by the fact they had been chasing the wrong cab all over London.

"Sorry, are you the police?"

"Yeah," Sherlock held up a card, "Everything OK?"

The man an unsure grin, "Yeah."

"Welcome to London."

"Have a grand night," she added before walking off with Sherlock.

. "Uh, any problems, just let us know," John, lamely told him, before shutting the door and watching the cab drive off. He then walked back to the two standing a way off, "So it was pretty much just a cab that happened to slow down.

"Pretty much."

"Not the murderer." John told Sherlock.

"No, not the murderer."

"Darn," Darcy said in a glum tone. It seemed like a long shot anyways.

"What is that? Where did you get this?" John took the police ID from Sherlock's hand, "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pick-pocket him when he's annoying," he casually told them, "You can keep that one. I've got plenty at the flat."

John started to softly chuckle, making Darcy join in as they both looked at the ID card. It was crazy, she thought, how strange it was to run through London, jump over rooftops, and yet seemed perfectly normal at the same time. John too, must have felt that away, since they could stop, much to Sherlock's puzzlement.

"What?"

"Nothing," John calmed down. "Just, 'welcome to London, have a grand night'."

Sherlock gave a real grin, which surprised both Darcy and John, but made them happy anyways. She was more surprised with herself, for so much laughing and smiling in the past hour. Never before had she acted so childishly. They looked over to see the cab had stop and the man from California was talking to a real police officer and was point at them.

"You got your breath back?"

Darcy nodded at Sherlock's question, "I could do a round two. Running from that police officer sounds fun."

"I'm ready," John confirmed as they ran out into the streets once more.

**Luxa: Thank you: MegGirybff, 88dragon06, and ginganinja1999for reviewing! And yes, I am thinking there will be some Sherlock/OC ;) Please take a moment and review! Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The drug bust at 221B**

"That was amazing," Darcy said as they all leaned against the wall inside 221b, breathing heavily. The rush she had at the moment from all the running and jumping they had done was spine tingling good. A rush she hadn't had in a long time.

"That was ridiculous, that was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you've invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock told him seriously before they all started to shakily laugh, grins on their faces.

John panted slightly as the laughter cane to it's end, "That wasn't just me."

Darcy straightened her hat, "Why didn't we go back to the restaurant?"

"They can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway," Sherlock replied in a bored tone, though Darcy swore she could get something underneath it.

"So why did we go?"

He gave a knowing smile at his question, "Oh, just passing the time, and proving a point."

"What point?"

"You. Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called into the other room, "Dr. Watson will take the room upstairs!"

"The things you did to prove your point..." Darcy chuckled, now understanding Sherlock's secret motive.

"Says who?" John asked, utterly confused.

"Says the man at the door," they both told John at the same time. The doctor gave they an odd look as they heard a knock on the door. While John opened the door, they smirked, knowing who was on the other side.

"Sherlock texted me," Angelo held out the walking stick, "He said that you forgot this."

John, took the cane, surprised to see it. He had totally forgotten about having it when they went on that wild goose chase, when he had left it. One look behind him told John that both his flatmate and the woman had known about the loss of his cane much earlier than he did.

"Uh, thank you, thank you." John said before shutting the door.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs. Hudson came out of here room, sounding very distressed.

"What?"

"Upstairs," they all instantly started hiking up the stairs at her words, "Darcy, what are you doing? I thought you were still moving in?"

Darcy froze and turned around, "Oh, I'm helping."

"I thought you said you'd never bother the two men upstairs?"

She awkwardly shuffled at her landlady's sly grin, "That sorta flew out the window. Are you alright Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, it's just that quite a few police officers all busted in and gave me a fright."

"Perhaps I should go up there..." she could hear Sherlock shouting something loudly. That wasn't a good sign.

"But what about all your unpacking?"

"Unpacking can wait for later, Mrs. Hudson." Darcy put a hand on the landlady shoulder and gave a forced smile before going up the stairs.

Darcy could hear someone shouting as she stood in the doorway. It wasn't to her surprise that it was a very pissed off Sherlock, who was shouting at a man with grey hair sitting down in a chair.

"Shut up! I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No. Anderson's my sniffer dog," the man told Sherlock. As Darcy got a better look at him, she knew she had seen his face before. It was the man on the ID of Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"What?" Sherlock cried, as a man with awful hair sarcastically waved from the kitchen. "Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust!"

"Oh, I volunteered."

"They all did," Lestrade said, "None of them are technically on the drugs-squad, but they were very keen."

"Uh... Sherlock, mind telling me what's going on?" Darcy quietly asked, peeking out from behind him. Sherlock's eye darted down to met hers for a second, only quick enough to tell her that everything would fall into place soon enough.

"Are these human eyes?" a African American woman held a jar

"Put those back!"

"But they were in the microwave,"

"It's an experiment," Sherlock grumbled, causing Darcy to laugh loudly at his sulking tone. Lestrade looked after her, eyebrows raised high.

"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?"

"I'm Darcy. Now do tell me, Lestrade, why you are doing an meaningless drugs bust when there is a serial killer out on the loose?"

"How did you get that information? That's still highly classif- Sherlock, who is this woman?"

I told you, I am Darcy. Is your hair going prematurely grey and you are losing your hearing at the same time?"

Sherlock impatiently sighed at Lestrade's befuddlement,"Her name is Darcy Lent, she lives downstairs and has more brains than Anderson and Donovan combined. She and John have been helping me. So for goodness sake, Get. Out. Now."

"Keep looking, guys!" Lestrade called out, making Sherlock fume. The man stood up to his full height and walked over to the woman and the now pacing detective, "Or you can start helping us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish."

"Well I'm dealing with a child," he retorted.

"He kinda has a point..."

"Not helping, Darcy." she froze as he whispered back into her ear, feeling extraordinary awkward. The man appearently knew nothing about personal space, as he lingered for a second to long. She composed herself quickly, noticing that the Dective Inspector was giving her an odd look.

Lestrade went on, "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you and you helpers in, but you do not go off on your own. Alright?"

"Oh! Okay! So you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock demanded, glaring. Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep calm. They would never figure out anything if everyone kept on fighting.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything," Lestrade said.

"I am clean!"

"Is your flat? All of it?"

Sherlock rolled up his sleeve, showing a flesh colored patch on his skin that contrasted against it's paleness, "I don't even smoke."

"Neither do I," Lestrade said, showing a nicotine patch on his own arm. "So let's work together. We found Rachel."

"Who is she?" he asked, eagerly.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

He frowned, "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Nevermind that!' Anderson snidely said from behind them, "We found the case, "According to someone, the murderer has the case and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research," Sherlock snapped at him, eyes cold and murderous. Darcy sighed, knowing they were getting off task, and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Look, Mr. Sociopath, I too am irritated by this Anderson. Honestly, I think I've lost numerous brain cells since meeting the prat, who by the way has a god awful haircut and is clearly having an affair with that women over there. But this is keeping us off the task that concerns Rachel, if you recall."

"Uh, yes, indeed. You need to bring Rachel in and question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead." Darcy said, seeing the solemn look on the Detective Inspector's face, who nodded at her words.

"Excellent. How long, when, why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well I doubt it since she's been dead for fourteen years," Lestrade said, making both of them frown. "Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter."

"That... that's not right," Darcy muttered, started to pace as she closed her eyes. She needed to think, put all the pieces together. Well, all the pieces she knew, which wasn't all of them. Blocking out all the noise was hard to do though, especially since she was in a crowded flat full of officers.

"Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson asked, "Yeah, sociopath, I'm seeing it now."

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name in the floor with her fingernails.

Darcy nodded, absorbing the new information, "She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt."

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it," John spoke out, "Well maybe he, I don't know, talks to them? Like, maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

"But that was ages ago! Why would she still be upset?"

The words died on his lips, everyone stating at him, horrified. Even John looked appalled at what he had said. Everyone besides Darcy, who was still vigorously pacing with her eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Not good?" he finally asked John quietly.

"A bit not good, yeah," John feebly replied, before giving a thoughtful nod. Honestly, he tried to not react like the rest Scotland Yard, but was finding it harder with Sherlock's insensitive comments.

"But if you were dying, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?"

"Please, God, let me live." John seriously told him, eyes dark.

"Oh, use your imagination."

"I don't have to."

Of course you don't, you've said it before, Darcy thought inwardly. Sherlock seemed the tiniest bit phased by John's words, as he faltered for a moment, before saying, "But if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson, running all those lovers, she was clever. She is trying to tell us something."

"Isn't the doorbell working?" Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway, "Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away!" Sherlock was now pacing furiously, almost bumping into Darcy, who gave him a dirty look that he didn't even register.

"Oh dear, they're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust," John explained to the now horrified landlady who gasped in shock.

"But they're just for my back," her words made Darcy lose concentration once more, "They're herbal soothers."

"SHUT UP! Everybody shut up!" Sherlock roared, startling Darcy so badly that she paced right into him, recoiling only the slightest bit. The room was now far to quiet. "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think."

"Not the only one," she softly grumbled to herself, hating that she was frozen right in front of him.

"Anderson, face the other way, you're putting me off."

Darcy looked up now, seeing a very frustrated Sherlock, fingertips at his temples and eyes sharp. They held eye contact for a moment, but in that moment, she knew he was challenging her. He wanted her to use her head to help solve the puzzle, outsmart the police officers around them. He wanted her to be brilliant.

Sherlock couldn't help but feel pleased at her defiant look. Clearly, Darcy Lent was up for the challenge, as did John with his stiff army posture and concerned looks. He tried not to marvel over the fact that somehow, two interesting people had shown up at his door, in just two days. Things like that never happens to sherlock Holmes, but the evidence showed differently.

"What? My face is?"

Damn you, Anderson, Sherlock darkly thought as he and Darcy both turned around to see him. Blood boiling, he shot a murderous look to the man standing in his kitchen. Why Sherlock was exactly mad at Anderson this time, he didn't really know, and he know fully intended to find out.

**Luxa: Thanks to MegGirybff, Draygen, and 188dragon06 for being fantastic reviewers! You guys make my day! Reviews are loved, Andersons are not! Thanks a billion!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Her Thinking Place**

"Oh," Darcy finally said, eyes fluttering open as the answer dawned upon her.

"Oh?"

She grinned, and told him, "It's Rachel."

His grey eyes widened ever so slightly as he stared off into space.

"Oh, she was clever, clever," Sherlock was manically happy now, moving in a way that could have been a complicated dance. "Yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead! Do you see? Do you get it?"

"She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him."

He looked at her and nodded, "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death so she left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

Darcy felt oddly proud of herself for coming to such a conclusion so quickly, right as the consulting detective had. Perhaps it was not the best moral thing to be giddy open, but honestly that didn't matter. What did, however, was that Sherlock almost seemed to approve the fact that she'd caught quickly enough to be on track with his skills. No doubt it was just a trick of the light, she chided to herself.

"But how?" Lestrade asked, causing both of them to blankly stare at him.

"What do you mean 'how'?"

"Don't you see, Detective Inspector?" Darcy practically urged the befuddled man. "Rachel!"

"Rachel!" Sherlock repeated with a mad grin on his face. It faltered slightly when he looked around to see that only two of them understood, everyone else was still in the dark. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing.

"Now, now, be a little nice to this thick head bunch. For some reason, it isn't clear to them that Rachel is not a name."

"Then what is it?" John asked impatiently.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label with an email address,"

John obidently walked over to the case and searched for the tag. Meanwhile, Darcy had opened up the laptop sitting on the table, sitting down and was ready to type as she opened up the MePhone website. However, as soon as John read the email address, a large arm snaked past her and started to frantically type it in. Lips pressed together, Darcy looked up in annoyance to see the face of an utterly focsed Sherlock very close to her own.

"I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone that's email enabled. So there was a website for her account. So her username is her email address and altogether now is..."

"Rachel," John proclaimed as he finally understood. He was fascinated, Darcy noted, by the deductions and problem solving his genius of a flat mate did. It was understandable of course, but to see such devotion and awe from one person, was quite touching. He would be a fantastic friend, if she did friends.

"So we can read her emails. So what?"

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street," he sniped, not even looking back at him.

Darcy, however, relished Anderson's gaping fish esque look before saying, "We can do much more than just read her emails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it," Lestrade countered.

"We know he didn't," John quickly defended, not knowing he was making Darcy's assumptions about the man's devotion correct.

"Come on, quickly!" Sherlock growled practically into her ear, inches away. Just ignore him, she thought as she intensely stared at the screen. It was rather hard to not distract though, with such close proximity to him, that she could hear his shallow breathing and the overwhelming scent of him. Smoky, but with a hint of tea and mint in there too, she subconsciously thought.

"Sherlock, this taxi driver..."

Finally Sherlock stopped leaning over her and march towards the woman, "Mrs. Hudson, isn't it about time you had your evening soother?"

"Get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're going to have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever," Darcy turned to Lestrade and gave her most demanding tone, causing him to blink.

"We'll only have a map reference, not a name," Lestrade pointed out to her, finally accepting that this woman with eerily similar detective skills to Sherlock Holmes was going to be working with them, no matter if he liked it or not.

"Well it's a start,"

"Sherlock..." John said, being the only one looking at the computer screen, now that Darcy was having a stare off with Lestrade.

Sherlock joined in with Darcy, "Narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead we've had."

"Sherlock?"

"Where is it? Where?"

"It's here. In 221B Baker Street," John's eyes were wide as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"How could it be here? How?"

"Well maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it, I don't know, fell out somewhere," Lestrade suggested, seeing that the woman and consulting detective's had their lips pressed and turned down.

"And I didn't notice it? Me?"

"My god, you can be so egotistic, can't you?" Darcy muttered.

John gave a slight smile as he heard her, "Anyway, we texted him and he called back."

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile," Lestrade called to hunting officers, "Belonged to the victim!"

Sherlock appeared as if he was about to speak, but he paused, mouth ajar open. His eyes fluttered closed, for only a moment. Yet in that moment, Darcy felt every thing, every piece in the game, had just turned. For better of worse, she had no clue as she stood up and decided to perch on the sofa.

"Sherlock, are you ok?" John asked, breaking him from his reverie.

"What?" Sherlock asked sounding vague, and in Darcy's opinion, as if he had come to a startling revelation. His brow was furrowed as he stared out the door, "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

"So, how can the phone be here?"

"Dunno," he replied in the same airy tone, still watching the door intensely. Almost like a monster lied in it's shadow.

"I'll try it again," John then turned to the computer, repeatedly hitting the refresh button over and over.

"Good idea."

"Where are you going?" Darcy asked as he started to creep towards the door in a too casual pace.

"Fresh air. Just popping out for a moment. Won't be long," was the only thing he said, eyes flickered towards her for a second, as he tightened the grip on his own coat.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Sherlock nodded to John before starting to walk down the stairs, "I'm fine!"

Darcy sighed. God knows how long the officers were going to stay and John was too nice to boot them out. Or was it illegal to boot out officers during a drug bust? She had no idea. Oh well, Darcy moved into a comfortable position and closed her eyes, she could do it here.

She could block out the noise and go to her thinking place, the place where she was alone.

A place to just think.

First, she cataloged all the data, making sure all the facts where straight. She recalled the pink lady's case. The woman had been traveling recently, and must of needed some different modes of transportation to get around.

'Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?' his voice echoed throughout her mind.

Then it hit her.

A taxi driver, a person that drives hundreds of people to and thro every day. Always forgotten, just a back of a head, a way for people to just get where they wanted to be. The murder was a cabbie. Not just a cabbie, the cabbie that was outside of the restaurant.

A cabbie who knew what they looked like.

Sherlock left. He went downstairs, thinking something. Could it be that he'd came to the conclusions minutes before her? Of he did, that why he left. That taxi waiting outside for him was the serial killer cabbie.

Oh dear god.

"John!"

He looked back at the woman who had jumped off the sofa and onto the floor, "Goodness, Darcy, what's wrong?"

"Sherlock, did he just get into a cab?"

"Yeah, a couple moments after you spaced out. How did you-"

She angrily huffed, knowing she lost track of time in her thinking place,"How long ago was that?"

"That was ten minutes ago. The officers also left, if you want to kno-"

"That's not important! We need to go after him, John." Darcy got up off the floor, "He went with the serial killer."

"Are sure you are not drawing conclusions?" John's eyebrows where slightly raised.

"What? No, no!" she could hear a slight ding, "Check the GPS, it'll be at a different location now. Where the taxi took Sherlock and the killer."

John turned around, alarmed to find that Darcy was correct, "What do we do?"

"Take the laptop and get into a taxi," Darcy hurriedly told him as she handed him the computer, "based on their route, they are going to Roland-Kerr Further Education College. I'll meet you inside. It should be open, since the janitors clean at night."

"Wait! Darcy, where are you going?" John shouted after her as they both stumbled down the stairs.

"I'm going after them."

"How?"

She turned around to see the doctor's kind, but concerned face, "I didn't win second place at a national track meet as a teenager for nothing, John Watson. Now call a cab for gods sake!"

With that, she left the man on the doorstep, her legs pounding against the pavement. It was very late, and dark out, almost creepy with the way shadows were casted. She was alone, running as fast as she could. Darcy pumped her legs and arms, trying to control her breathing as she twisted through the streets of London. She knew where the collage was, she just hoped that she made it in time.

It was the fastest she'd ever ran, and it still took eleven minutes to get there. Panting, she looked up at Roland-Kerr Further Education College. There was two large buildings, both lit up. Damn, Sherlock and the killer could be in either one.

"I hope I guessed right," she quietly told herself as she ran to the one on the left.

**Luxa: Thanks to nic2mad, (yes, I am thinking of diverging more after the first case, since you wanted to know), and 188dragon06 for being so supportive! You guys mean a lot to me! Reviews are super! Until next time, which will hopefully be soon. Laters!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Come along, Lent**

When Darcy silently opened the last door after running through all the levels of the college building, she was slightly bewildered at the scene before her. A man in outdated clothes, no doubt the cabbie, was sitting at the table with a gun in hand. Gun, of course, firmly trained at Sherlock's head. He was so damn calm, it fascinated her, how he sat in his woolen coat and scarf without a care in the world. Wanting to respect the dignity of the two men at the table, Darcy decided to silently close the door and watch. At least, until it started to get out of control.

"You can take the 50/50 chance or I can shoot you in the head," the cabbie told him as he held a gun at his head, "Funny enough, nobody's ever one for that option."

"Hello, sorry to be bothering you both," Darcy's voice caught the attention of both men, "but I figured it all out and was hoping to see the murderer in action. Do you mind?"

The man gave a thin but toothy grin, "My, another proper genius. We just seem to be piping everywhere nowadays. I wasn't expecting you, miss. But please, stay a while, take a seat. Thought you must understand that I'll have to shoot you afterwards."

"Don't mind at all," she walked over and sat next to Sherlock, holding onto the edge of his woolen coat under the table. She had strong suspicions that the gun was an obvious fake, but didn't dare to bring it up. Instead, Darcy intensely stared at both bottles on the table, understanding the game and the risks, instantly.

"So, have you come to a decision?"

"I'll have the gun, please," Sherlock made it sound as if they were talking about the weather.

"'You sure?' the cabbie asked.

"Definitely," he replied without any hesitation, "The gun."

It had to be a fake. There was no other explanation she could find. Why else would Sherlock react in such a way?

"'You don't want to phone a friend?' the cabbie asked, nodding towards Darcy, who was utterly composed. He was slightly distracted by how she was digging her nails into the hem of his coat sleeve, but kept up with the game he was playing.

"The gun."

He pulled the trigger.

"We all know a real gun when we see one," Darcy dryly told him as only a small flame came out. "Now don't think of us as a bunch of morons that wouldn't see it."

"None of the others did."

"Clearly," Sherlock stood up, "Well this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case."

"I bet you will," she told herself under her breath as she began to walk out with him. It had been duller than she expected.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which one's the good bottle?"

The Detective and the woman stopped in their tracks, a few feet away from the door. Oh, this was it. Darcy realized, a heavy feeling in her lower rib cage. This was how the man planned to ensnare Sherlock, and possibly even her. By baiting their curiosity and urge to win, to be correct.

"Of course," Sherlock's reply was vague and lazy, not even bothering to turn around. "Child's play."

"Well, which one?' the cabbie lowly taunted, setting Darcy on edge. 'Which one would you have picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you. Come on, play the game."

Her warning was not even above a whisper,"Sherlock..."

She scowled as the man walked back and picked up the bottle closest to the cabbie. Obviously, he must know that it was all a trick. So why on earth was he walking right into it?

"Oh, interesting," the cabbie said out loud as he picked up the other small bottle with a pill in it, "So what do you think? Shall we? Really, what do you think? Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life? I bet you get bored, don't you?"

Sherlock kept quiet, opening the bottle and sliding the pill out. Holding it up to the light, he inspected it. Everything seemed so much intenser all of the sudden. He could hear everything, the hum of the air conditioner, sparrow outside, the soft intake of Darcy's breath. Her presence was close to his own, a shadow, momentarily forgotten as both he and the serial killer inches the pills closer to their mouths.

The cabbie continued to taunt, "I know you do. A man like you, so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it? Still the addict. But this, this is what you're really addicted to. You'll do anything, anything at all to stop being bored. You're not bored now, are-"

The bullet flew through the glass in the blink of an eye, hitting the cabbie were some of his most vital organs lied. He was now on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, coughing up more every moment.

"Well, that was an excellent shot," Darcy remarked as she looked at the bullet hole in the glass before turning around. Sherlock was now above the man, dangling the pill he also took above his slumped body.

"'Was I right?' he asked, 'I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?'

Darcy rolled her eyes, "Sherlock, really? That's not important."

Sherlock threw the pill onto the floor, a disgusted snarl on his face.

"Okay, tell me this: Your sponsor, who was it? The one that told you about me, my fan. I want a name."

"No," the cabbie wheezed. He wasn't going to live much longer, she realized.

"You're dying, true, but there's still plenty of time for us to hurt you. Just be a dear and give us a name," Darcy pulled out her gun from the hoisted in her sports bra, pulling it through her shirt and the keeping it steadily locked on the dying man. This action made Sherlock cock one eyebrow briefly before he roughly stepped on a tendon in the man's arm, causing him to seize up in pain.

"A name, now! The name!" Sherlock bellowed, using more force now.

"MORIARTY!"

He breathed his last breath, body going entirely slack, eyes glazed over. Sherlock moved back a step, mind racing. Moriarty. A last name for a person who was apparently keeping close tabs on him. Meanwhile, Darcy was fishing out her mobile and unlocking it. She then handed it over to Sherlock.

"Didn't think you'd be so desperate for my number, Lent."

"Very funny. I just need you to type in Lestrade's number. The Yard ought to know you solved the case, that, and pick up the body," her nose crinkled at the last bit.

"Of course," he quickly typed in the number before passing it back to her.

"Hello? Lestrade, this is Darcy, the woman from 221C. Yes, the smart one, don't be thick. The case has been cracked, but our killer was shot by someone and is lying dead on the floor. Sherlock and the body are at Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Bye."

"You said that only I and the body would be there."

She slipped her mobile back into her pocket, "Well, I'm really important to the case."

"Of course you are, you realized that Rachel was a passcode," Sherlock took a step closer to her, his scarf rustling quietly.

"True," she admitted, "but you figured the cabbie was behind it minutes before I did."

"Would have took the Yard hours without either of us."

They could hear police sirens in the background.

"Goodness, is this a genuine complement I'm receiving?"

His grey eyes steeled at her cheeky jab, "Don't assume anything, Lent."

"I really ought to learn your last name so I can get back at you for merely calling me by my last name."

"Sherlock Holmes," he held out his hand, as if introducing himself for the first time.

"Oh my," Darcy breathed in as she clasped his hand, "a Holmes. I should have know."

They didn't even shake hands, just holding them together, frozen. Sherlock debated checking her pulse, out of pure curiosity. Her eyes, while widened, were not dilated and her breathing pattern was regular.

"Heard of us before?"

"Heard?" Darcy scoffed, "I have had the unpleasure of being aquatinted with a certain Holmes before too many times."

"You are just an, enigma, aren't you?" He murmured lowly to himself. A confused look crossed her face.

"I'm sorry, did you just say somethi-"

The metal door burst open, causing both of them to drop their hand immediately. Officers swarmed in, some taking pictures, others searching for evidence. One brought two neon orange blankets from out of nowhere and draped them over both, puzzling them.

"I don't need a blanket."

The officer ignored her protest and turn to the detective, "The DI will want to both of you. I'll take you there"

"Indeed," Sherlock nodded, "Come along, Lent."

"I'm not your bloody dog," she hissed as they walked out of the crime scene.

"Never said you were."

Darcy huffed, and wrapped the blanket around her a little tighter, feeling a chill. In the silence, she wondered where on earth John could be. Hopefully not in danger. They both took long strides, walking ahead of the officer, their neon orange shock blankets billowing out from behind them. The detective and the woman that he'd met only two hours or so ago, both lost in their own thoughts

**Luxa: Big thanks to 88dragon06 and nic2mad for being fantastic reviewers. Now who could be this other Holmes that Darcy has met? ;) Reviews are cherished! Until next time, readers!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Quite elementary**

"So, you're another Sherlock?" Darcy looked up from the floor, seeing the DI leaning against the ambulance. Sherlock had just walked off, after almost giving away the fact that John killed the serial killer.

"No," she coolly said, "I'm merely an observant person that has a high intellect. Certainly not, a Mr. Holmes, which is a rather laughable suggestion."

"But you're a consulting detective."

"Oh no, that's something he made up. I'm just a waitress."

Lestrade's mouth was agape, "You are a genius that is a waitress for her occupation?"

"Well, we have a dead cabbie over there that was a genius. So, I guess it's not really that strange."

He nodded thoughtfully for a second, before pulling out a card. Taking it with two fingers, Darcy flipped in around seeing a phone number embossed in silver. Personal phone number, most likely, based on the digits.

"That's my office number. If you get tired of waitressing, call me. Sherlock, he only takes the big and strangest cases, but we still have so many cases baffle us and he won't take. We need someone like you, another consulting detective."

"Why me? I have no credentials, no training, no experience." she cautiously said, head cocked.

"He said you were smart, that you had brains."

"So?"

His face was serious, "People as brilliant as him don't fling a word like that around as easily as everyone else does. If Sherlock says someone's smart, I will wholeheartedly believe him."

"You put a lot of trust into him," she noted, "which is quite surprising for a man in a struggling marriage that'll might most likely end in the next two years."

"You..." his jaw opened and closed more than once, "unbelievable."

"Quite believable, actually. What kind of happy married woman lets her husband leave the house with mismatched socks and a 5 o'clock shadow?" Darcy sarcastically told him as she stood up. John and Sherlock were already walking off without her. Honestly, the two were constantly on the go.

"So you'll take the position?"

She began walking off as she shouted back to him, "I'll think about it."

Darcy almost waved her arms and yelled at the two chuffed men, to wait up, when she saw the silver car park outside the crime scene. Oh no, she quietly groaned. Why did he have to show up now? She wished that if she blinked, he'd just disappear. But there he still was, Mycroft Holmes, the prat and his secretary. What was her name? Annie? Athena? She changed it far to much for her taste.

"Do I dare attempt to escape them?" She muttered to herself.

Anyone with the radius of ten feet could easily hear Sherlock and Mycroft heatedly arguing as Darcy walked towards them, head down slightly, griping her shock blanket tightly once more time before dropping it. Poor John looked utterly befuddled, no doubt not realizing that the two men where brothers. She was a just a centimeter shorter than John, so when she stood right behind him, none of the men knew she was there.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock asked, outraged, "I wasn't the one that upset her, Mycroft!"

"Wait! Wait! 'Mummy'? Who's 'Mummy'?"

Sherlock met John's eyes for a second, "Mother, our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft. Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it actually," he tightly responded, smile taut. Darcy couldn't help smirk but delight in the fact that she'd found another way to get under the insufferable Mycroft Holmes' skin. She'd have to pull out that card sometime very soon.

"He's your brother?" John, still trying to process this new information, asked.

"Of course he's my brother,"

"So he's not...?" John uttered slowly, as he tried fitting all the pieces together.

Sherlock's brow furrowed,"Not what?"

"I don't know, a criminal mastermind?"

"Close enough," was all that Sherlock growled, causing his brother to sigh in exasperation.

"For goodness sake, I occupy a minor position in the British government."

Darcy couldn't help but scoff at the very stretched truth. The man was the bloody government himself! It wasn't until after she scoffed that she realized she had brung attention to herself, trying to remain calm, she took a step backwards, ready to hide it out in the crime scene.

"Darcy Lent," his whole face narrowed in distaste, "What are you doing here?"

She froze, stopping in her tracks, feeling his glare burn on her as she looked off into the distance.

"Hello, Mycroft, dear. How's the diet?"

Sherlock's eyebrows arched, "You know each other?"

"You apparently don't know who you are dealing with, little brother. Associating with her is a very poor decision on your behalf. This woman has been a thorn in my side for years."

"Had," she automatically corrected as she took a step towards him, challenging him to correct her again.

"Sorry, but am I the only one confused? What did Darcy do to make you hate her so?" John inquired, eyes flicking towards Mycroft's assistant once more. Darcy roiled her eyes at this, but shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't really wanted her new 'friends' to find out about her past so soon. Especially since it wasn't exactly a good background for a newly appointed consulting detective.

"If you kept up with the news in the past few years, you would recall an infamous hacker that breached the security of many government departments and banks. The outbreak of course was somehow leaked to the press and you can imagine what happened next."

The detective nodded, "The Lady was the hacker's code name, was it not? Before you caught them."

"Oh we caught her, but she slipped out of our fingers and then deleted every trace of herself."

"Self perseveration, my dear Mycroft," Darcy crisply said, remaining collected even though she could hear John starting to sputter. Sherlock, however, remained silent. "I needed my way out and found one, by simply destroy everything I could find about myself. The Lady was no more."

"You were a well know hacker? Out of everyone I've known-"

"I was bored, John. I needed something to do. After all, being a waitress isn't a very thrilling life style."

She could feel Sherlock's eyes bore into her head as she took a step back. It was as if Darcy had become an intriguing specimen, a thing that he wanted to learn every little thing about her, even that meant cutting her apart. Adjusting her hat, she almost started to turn around before Mycroft spoke again.

"What do you want with my little brother, Darcy?"

"Nothing. I was just looking for a new flat, since I know you kept on bugging mine. It was pure coincidence that I met him, really."

He towered about her, chin right above her mouth, "I know that neither of us don't believe in coincidences."

"Guess I've changed."

"I guess you have," he then leaned in and whispered in her ear, "but doubt for a second that I won't be watching you, Darcy Lent."

"Naturally. I 'd be more than surprised if you didn't keep your eye on me, dear."

Burrowing her cold fingers in her trousers pockets, she briskly walked away, not caring what either of the Holmes brothers or Dr. Watson thought. Overwhelmed by exhaustion, after hiding herself by turning into a side street, she slowly walked. Face down, lost in her own head. It wasn't until she felt her forehead connect with something soft, and heard a soft 'oof' that she wasn't paying attention.

"I am so sorry. Are you alright?"

The man dusted off his suit, "I'm fine, really."

Irish lilt, fairly soft. Late twenties, based on the very few wrinkles in his complexion. Immaculately clean and small amount of product in his dark hair, which meant he cared about about his appearance. Then there was his expensive suit that was a-

"Westwood," she blurted out loud causing her face to flush and his brow to furrow.

"Indeed. How did you know?"

Darcy shrugged, "By the thread count and the cut of the suit. Quite elementary, actually. Sorry about bumbling into you, wouldn't want to ruin such a nice suit."

"It's quite alright, really," he gave her a small, tentative smile, as if was nervous. He then held out his well manicured hand to her, "I'm Richard, Richard Brooke."

"I'm-"

Before she finished her sentence, her mobile made a loud vibrating noise. Darcy gave him an apologetic look as she pulled it out and read the new text message.

**A infamous worldwide hacker? Didn't know you had it in you, Lent. -SH**

"Sherlock," she hissed as she put her phone away, oblivious to the dark wolfish look that crossed Richard's face.

He suddenly made an innocent expression, "You're name is Sherlock?"

"Uh, no, that was a... person who lives with me," Darcy then blinked as if she was recalling someone, "I've got to go."

"Wait!-"

She dashed out into the empty street, hat flying off her head, and ran across to the other sidewalk, never looking back. It was so late, there was no way she was going to get any decent sleep, for the fifth time in a row. Never did it occur to look back at the man she had ran into by accident.

Jim Moriarty was more than pleased with how his night had gone. Finally, the great Sherlock Holmes knew his name, had whispered it into the the dark. It was only an extra bonus that the foolish cab had died and given away more information, something he surely would have done by accident in questioning.

It was all so boring, that is, until he found Sherlock Holmes. Yes, soon the game would begin, the detective would dance, and things wouldn't be boring for once. Hopefully.

"Well..." Moriarty picked up the black newsboy hat that the women had forgotten, "Maybe you could make this interesting also."

She had a somewhat pretty face, knew where he got his suit from in seconds, and then her mobile went off... That was the part that drove him mad. This women knew a Sherlock, and according to her, lived with him. It had to be Sherlock Holmes, who else could it be?

"Yes, sir?" a quiet but gruff voice picked up the line.

"Seb! Darling! I need you to do a little thing for me."

"What is it, Sir? Need me to get rid of that extortionist we were talking about?"

"Noooo," he sang as he clutched his mobile and spines around in the empty street, "but you can do that sometime this week. Right now, I need you to watch a woman for me, a woman who lives with Sherlock and his new pet."

"Do I get to take her out?"

"No, YOU MORON!" Jim could almost hear Sebastian visibly cringe as he roared at the sniper. "She... might be of use to us. Find out her name. Where she works. A picture or two would be nice."

He sighed, "Alright, boss, I'll get you everything by tomorrow afternoon."

"You better," Jim darkly threatened before brightly saying, "I'll see you soon, Sebby!"

"Don't call me-"

Moriarty flipped his mobile shut and lazily threw it up in the air but deftly catching it with two fingers, a smirk on his face. In less than twelve hours, he'd have everything he needed to know on the woman with the hat. The woman who could possibly Sherlock Holmes' weakness. Twirling the black hat on his index finger, he whistled into the night, feeling quite thrilled at the events to come.

_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive. _

Oh how he couldn't wait to see the consulting detective dance.

**Luxa: Man, writing Moriarty is tricky. Anyways, large thankyous for the loyal MegGirybff,88dragon06 and nic2mad! Reviews are always welcomed! Untill next time ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Curiosity**

Sun light filtered through her brand new curtains, which wasn't a good thing for her, since when she started work it would always still be dark. Darcy was a tangle of limbs as she blearily blinked her eyes and processed this information. She was going to be late to work... once again.

"Damn! Trainers," Darcy realized as she looked down at her bare feet, "where are my trainers?"

She rolled off the couch, grabbing her mobile on the floor. Standing up, she flew around her new flat, pulling on a fresh blouse and trying her apron on.  
Finding her trainers in the kitchen sink, she dashed up the stairs two at a time, holding them in her hand.

"Oh, good morning, Darcy. How are-"

"Can't talk Mrs. Hudson. I'm late!"

The motherly woman watched, concerned, at the mess that barreled her way through the foyer, "Have you eaten anything, dear?"

"I don't have the-" she slammed the door before she finished her own sentence.  
"What on earth is causing such a racket?"

Mrs. Hudson walked up the staircase to join a puzzled John, "Just your neighbor, running out without her trainers on. Now, how bout I fix you a nice cuppa."

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure we can manage."

"I'll be downstairs then!"

John gave her a warm smile, nodded, and then shut the door. Turning around, he starting walking up the stairs until he remembered what had slipped his mind.  
"Mrs. Hudson, I'll be back later! I'm going down to Tescos to get some groceries."

"Very well," she called to him as he slipped on his coat, "I suppose I'll watch Sherlock.

"  
John smiled as he headed out. Mrs. Hudson watching Sherlock... as if she was babysitting the man. Sounded a bit ridiculous, but then again, he was a handful. Hopefully he wouldn't cause much trouble while he was away. He was just sitting in the living room, John thought. How much trouble could he cause?

Darcy, on the other hand, was daydreaming that someone would cause trouble. Being a waitress was absolutely boring, and if it didn't pay the bills, she would have quiet the tedious job months ago. It was simply luck they hadn't fired her already.

"Lent!" the manager barked, "There's a man sitting at table twelve, go get his order already!"

"Yes M'am..."

She strolled past the manger, glancing her over quickly. Oh dear, someone had a rough night. Fight with a girlfriend and drinking till two, she thought, better stay on her good side today. Darcy straighten her bun and apron and made her way to table twelve.

"Hello, welcome to Stacy's. I'm Dar- oh!"

"Hello again," Richard Brooke looked up at her from the menu with a kind smile, "what a surprise, to run into you again."

"You're- You're the Irish man in the Westwood suit!"

He chuckled, "I do believe I told you my name, didn't I?"

"Yes, uh, Richard."

"Quite a memory you've got there."

She gave a small smirk, "I've been told."

"I didn't think you told me yours though," he kept his voice light and airy.

"It's Darcy, Darcy Lent."

"Well, Darcy Lent, I do believe you forgot this."

Out of nowhere, Richard produced her black hat, causing her to gasp. Pleasantly delighted, Darcy placed it on her head. She had absolutely forgotten her about hat in all the excitement last night.

"Thank you, I thought lost it."

"It's a good thing I ran into you then, isn't it?"

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, "Yes, isn't it."

Darcy swore for one moment that Richard's kind face was just a mask. And behind that mask were a pair of cold, cruel eyes. Watching her, judging her every moment. Darcy blinked. She wasn't just being silly, still worked up from last night. Richard was an ordinary, kind guy. Quite a handsome one at that.

"LENT!"

She jumped, hearing her manager Stacy storm towards her, her heavy heels clomping this way.

"Lent, what have you been doing for the past ten minutes?! I told you to take that man's order!"

Richard tried to intervene, "It's fine, she was-"

Stacy glared, her messy hair and toad-like face seemed more menacing than usual, "Out."

"What?" Darcy blinked.

"I said out. I've had enough of you, Lent. You're fired."

"But-"

"Out!" Stacy pointed towards the door.

"Darcy did nothing wrong," Richard insisted, looking upset at himself for causing the problem.

Squaring her shoulders, Darcy looked her straight in the eye, "You're boyfriend of two years has been cheating on you repeatedly with your friend. The same girlfriend you took out to the bar and had an argument last night: the truth is, however, that he loves neither of you. He's gay and has a crush on a waiter at Starbucks. I have a strong feeling that they are going to hook up and he'll ditch both of you soon for him. Also, you can't fire me. I quit."

With that, Darcy threw her apron on the ground and stormed out of the diner.

"It had to happen sometime, Darcy," she muttered to herself as she walked down the street in the cold, her blouse giving her little protection from the wind.

"Wait! Darcy!"

She turned around in disbelief, seeing the well dressed Irishman had followed her.  
"Richard? What do you-"

"That was absolutely fantastic, I can't believe you did that! Oh, you should have seen that woman's face!"

Darcy stopped, "That? Yeah, it was a bit of an overreaction."

"It was amazing though. I've never seen someone do something like that. How did you know all those things?"

"I just observe, that's all," she mumbled, shuffling her feet. They were in very close proximity, him only a little taller than her. Unlike Sherlock who towered over her. In her pocket, her mobile buzzed. Speak of the devil, she thought, ignoring her phone.

"That's quite a interesting gift you have, Darcy."

Her cheeks grew a light pink, "Thank you, Richard. You're very kind to say so."  
He took her hand, startling her slightly, his eyes were wide and sincere.

"Will you go out with me to dinner?"

Her phone buzzed again.

"Me? Uh..."

Richard held her hand tighter, "Please? I want to get to know you. You're so... fascinating."

When was the last time she went on a proper date? Probably when she was still at Uni. It had been so long, and he seemed awfully nice. One dinner date couldn't hurt, could it?

"Alright. Sure, I'd love to, Richard."

"Brilliant! I can't wait! Angelo's at eight?"

"Yes, I-"

"Excellent!" he then pecked her on the cheek and started to walk off, "I'll see you then!"

"Bye!" she squeezed out, watching his retreating figure, blissfully unaware that Jim Moriarty was walking away with a grin on his face, pleased that his plans were now set in place.

Her mobile buzzed a third time, making her groan. It's seems that Sherlock was being persistent. Perhaps it was time she gave it a look.

**We have a new case. John insisted I told you about it. We're at Shad Sanderson -SH**

**Someone did a little graffiti in an office but there was no way for someone to get in. High building, complex security. Curious yet? -SH**

**Stop ignoring me. I know you're curious now. Meet us outside the bank. Hurry, Lent. Don't waste my time. -SH**

"Damn you..." she grumbled, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. Of course she was curious, how could she not? Strange graffiti in a high class bank? Sounded like an mystery to her!

**On my way, don't have all the fun before I get there. -DL**

She sent the text and briskly crossed the street, Darcy could already see Shad Sanderson bank on the horizon.

**I'll try my best to. -SH**

She grinned. Who needed a job when John and Sherlock where on the case?

**Luxa: I know I haven't exactly been a good updater, but I'll try to get back into the swing of things! Thanks for all the great reviews**!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Testing Her**

"So now what?" John asked.

They both strolled out of the bank, Sherlock leading pwith John on his heels. Striding, Sherlock felt at comfort. This is how he wanted everyday to be. A new puzzle, a interesting case, and his blogger by his side. And, Sherlock briefly debated, maybe Darcy coming along as well. She was tolerable when she didn't let her emotions get the best of her. She might have a slim chance of being as clever as me, he thought, but she is still too human.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and..."

John made his own conclusions, "...they'll lead us to the person who sent it."

"Obvious." he briskly nodded as he opened the door for his shorter friend.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"

The air was crisp outside, and full of the noises of the bustling city. Sherlock took a deep breath as he straighten his coat. He could smell cigarets and Thai from a block down and could hear the rhythm of walking pedestrians. One of which, was walking angrily towards them. Sherlock's lips twitched, but didn't say anything except, "Pillars."

John's forehead crinkled in confusion, "What?"

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a-"

"Hello boys," Darcy bitterly said as she walked in time with them, having finally caught up.

"Darcy, you made it! I didn't think you would until later since you rushed off to work so fast."

"Well, John, I-"

"She was fired." Sherlock informed him, making Darcy's nostrils flare.

"I quit. After she fired me."

"Didn't stop you from chatting it up with a man afterwards."

She glared at him, "No, it didn't."

"Going to accept his offer?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I did. No thanks to you for constantly texting me while I was talking to him. It's not any importance to you anyhow."

The slender woman took short but fast strides, keeping herself right next to Sherlock. John, however, was trying to keep up with her speed and his long legs. She was shivering, Sherlock noticed, without her coat. No doubt she left it at home since she was already late to work. A thick men's cologne stuck to her skin, distracting him. It was an off putting contrast to her usual light perfume.

"He'll be a waste of your time," Sherlock was surprised to hear himself say.

"Humph, I don't criticize you for how spend your time. Like how you were fighting off a Middle Eastern assassin while I was about to head to work and John was downstairs."

"Wait," John squeaked, "what! There was an assassin at-"

"Ah, so you did hear that."

Her lips almost gave him a smile, "Who didn't?"

"Is that how our table got a nick in it? Sherlock? Sherlock!"

He ignored John's outburst and whisked out his mobile, handing it to her. Darcy took care in not brushing his fingertips as she took Sherlock's phone and looked at the photograph on the screen. Her lips pursed, eyes narrowing as she studied it.

Snapping her head up to look at him, she said, "It's a threat, isn't it? An angry slash of paint through the man's eyes. It must be. Perhaps a secret signal or code. Either way, this was a threat for some working at the bank who on the same level as this painting."

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

"So it could only be seen perfectly for someone sitting at there desk. Someone who had just come in!"  
Sherlock almost gave a slip of a smile at her excitement as he tried to hail a taxi.

"Then, all we need is to know who was sitting there," John exclaimed, "But who?"

"Not many Van Coons in the phonebook, do you think?"

Both John and Darcy marveled at the slip of paper in his hand. Sherlock must've taken it off the persons desk, Darcy thought. As the taxi pulled up, she whipped out her mobile, typing 'Van Coon' into a personal search engine she had made with the help of an old government data base. Sure enough, she found a Eddie Van Coon who worked at the bank. She smirked. Thanks to all the years of hacking she's done, Darcy had this man's information, address, and social security number in seconds.

"Whiting Avenue, please," she told the taxi driver as the three piled in.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Whiting? You found him that quickly?"

"Yes, he lives on Whiting Avenue, in a large apartment complex. I found it quite easily online."

"What else did you find about him online?" John asked curiously, tucked snugly between the two.

"Oh, everything. I not only know where he lives, but I've got the codes to all his credit cards as well. All in one click."

"The perks of being a elite hacker?"

She politely bared her teeth at him, "Former hacker, Sherlock. Wouldn't want your brother to think that I'm being a bad girl again."

"Are you a bad girl, Darcy?"

"Lady," John corrected awkwardly between the tense consulting detective and the former waitress, "Her code name was The Lady."

"Yes, it was. But those days are long gone, I swear. I only snooped around some government files this time because I wanted to help with the case."

"Really? Mycroft doesn't think so," Sherlock holding up his buzzing mobile, "then again, he overreacts about everything. Should I pick it up?"

"No. Your brother can go stuff his face with cake for all I care. Ignore that damn phone, we're here."

Sherlock chuckled lightly as he stepped out of the cab, "Right answer."

"Are you testing her?" John lowly asked as they started walking away while Darcy paid the fare. "You are, aren't you. You don't trust her yet so you're going keep on testing her and her limits. I knew it! It's a test!"

"Perhaps."

By the time Darcy had walked over to them, Sherlock was just about to begin talking to a woman over the security system. It was impressive, she thought, how his whole demeanor could change on the flick of a switch. He'd make a marvelous actor.

"Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met."

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in."

Sherlock turned and thee a brief 'told you so' glance at them, before turning back to the camera and giving his best smile, "Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat."

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" the woman asked.

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"Are you crazy?" Darcy muttered to him as they looked down from the balcony they were standing on. It was sheer luck that the woman had let them in and agreed to let them use the balcony. But now Sherlock wanted to jump down to Van Coon's apartment? It was mad! She should have said no, like John firmly did. But... Sherlock had looked her in the eye and silently dared her. She just couldn't pass down a challenge. Even if it made her sick to her stomach.

"Possible," he replied, "Sociopath, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"Look, I'll go down first. Maybe I'll bother to save you if you land wrong."

She huffed, defensively, "Whatever."

Darcy crossed her arms and watched as he elegantly jumped down and landed on both his feet. Taking a few deep breaths, she closed her eyes. It'd end okay, right? Scrunching her eyes as tightly as possible, she jumped.  
Her landed was bad, her feet slipping. Darcy couldn't help but give out a squeak. Suddenly, arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, making her eye open. Sherlock.

"You know," he sounded irritated, "If you're aiming to land in a certain spot, you should keep your eyes open."

"I'll keep that in mind next time."

"Are you just that afraid of heights?"

"No," she whispered as she blushed, "I'm scared of falling."

Coughing, she stepped away from his tight arms, wanting to not be in his close proximity now and opened the sliding glass door. It was all too much for her right. he was too much. Don't focus on him, she told herself, focus on the case.

He didn't look at her as they walked in. It was a cruel test, making her face a fear, one that seemed deeply rooted. She had shook like a leaf, but never realized. Honestly, he didn't think she'd do it, not in the end. Yet she did. Because she trusted him even if he didn't trust her.

She was either very stupid or absolutely brilliant and he didn't know which.

The apartment was quite posh, Eddie must've been wealthy. Darcy and Sherlock wandered, carful to not touch anything that might be evidence. She could hear John banging on the door, but ignored it, seeing a shut door at the end of the hall. Sherlock tried to turn the handle. Locked.

"Shall we?" he gestured to the door.

"Yes. Let's."

They both rammed against the door, forcing it open. Wobbling on her feet but grinning, Darcy looked around. Both her and Sherlock's eyes zeroed on the dead body laying on the bed, gun in hand. Sucidie. Or so it seemed.

"Hello Mr. Van Coon..." she whispered, her heart thudding in excitement.

Being with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes on a case made her adrenaline reach heights she never thought possible.

Perhaps she should take Lestrade up on that offer of being a consulting detective.

**Luxa: Thanks for the great reviews! I hope the pacing is okay!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Don't Be Boring **

Darcy snapped on her personal pair of blue latex gloves, thinking at the yellow symbols on the painting at the bank. What did they mean? She bit her lip, running through the languages she knew in her head. Not German, Japanese, French, or Russian. Could it be short hand? What was the message for Van Coon?

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys." John commented, shifting his gaze around the room.

"We don't know that it was suicide."

"Come on, Sherlock. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

"Not impossible," Darcy murmured, recalled her jump in the consulting detective's arms.

There was a suitcase on the floor near the bed that Sherlock opened, looking at the contents, "Been away three days, judging by the laundry. Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it."

"Problem?" he cocked a dark eyebrow curiously.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

"Calm down, John, dirty underwear won't kill you," she chuckled, causing the short man's cheek to burn."Now, Sherlock, those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there? Obliviously some sort of code."

Sherlock was looking closely at Van Coon's legs – or possibly his shoes – with a keen eye. Up and down he scanned, for what, John didn't know. Darcy was carefully opening the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets but was disappointed with her endeavors.

"Why were they painted?" he asked aloud, "If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering," John joked.

"Oh, good. You follow."

"No."

Darcy smirked as Sherlock threw him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon's hands. It was funny how Sherlock often thought John was on the same page as him. Perhaps he was to caught up in his own world to realize that it was hard to keep up with a genius. And while John was bright, Darcy didn't think it'd hurt to help out a little bit.

"John, what kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"

Sherlock added on, "What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills."

Sherlock delicately pried Van Coon's mouth open and pulled out a small black origami flower from inside. Air hisses out from the dead man's lungs, making a soft noise in the now silent room. Darcy's eyes widen, surprise clear on her face as she studied the flower. It was a lotus.

"Yes," his tone was triumphant, "He was being threatened"

Sherlock held his hand out and Darcy quickly handed him an evidence bag. Carful to not crush the origami, he tucked it in and sealed up the bag.

"Not by the gas board though," John mused.

"... and see if you can get prints off this glass." a stern voice commanded from outside the bedroom. No doubt it was the forensic investigators from Scotland Yard who were still searching the rest of the flat in vain, even though they scoped it out before the Yard had arrived.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met."

Surprisingly, he offered his hand to shake, but the man put his hands on his hips and glared at Sherlock instead, "Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

"I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?" Darcy tartly said, taking the evidence from Sherlock and giving it to the man. She didn't really want to be on this man's bad side, especially if she wanted to work with Lestrade any time soon.

"He's busy. I'm in charge," he snapped at her before turning back to Sherlock, "And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Dimmock then walked out of the room without another word, clearly one for dramatics. They reluctantly followed him into the living room where he handed the bag to one of the forensics team before stating, "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts." John admitted

"Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts," Darcy said.

"You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

Dimmock narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, "Like?"

The wound was on the right side of his head."

"And?"

Darcy's lips curled back, "Van Coon was left-handed."

Shelock went into quite an elaborate and laughable mime as he tried demonstrate Darcy's point. If it was not such a serious situation, she would have laugh at his antics. He pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand, looking foolish. Of only she had a camera...  
"Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?" Dimmock sputtered.

"Oh," his tone was now snide, "I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat. Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left..."

Out of the corner of eye, Sherlock gave eye contact to Darcy with a curt, invisible nod, telling her to add her own observations.

"Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on as well?"  
"No, I think you two have covered it," John grumbled.

"Oh, she might as well; we're almost at the bottom of the list. Carry on, Lent."

"There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. So, it's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts."

"So you're a freak too, huh?" he now glared at her, "You just think you know everything since some scientist called you a genius wheb you were a kid. It doesn't matter though. You're not a forensic investigator and don't know how to do my job. Besides, if it wasn't a suicide, why would have a-"

"He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened," Sherlock crisply said, walking away and putting his coat. Darcy suddenly realized how tense she'd gotten at Dimmock's cruel jabs. John put a comforting arm around her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic look.

"What?"

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning," John seemed quite eager to get out of Dimmock's sight as well.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in."  
"And the bullet...?"

"Went through the open window," was her reply

"Oh, come on!" he face grew an ugly color, "What are the chances of that?!"

Oh her blood was boiling now, "Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it, even though you have taken my words with a grain of salt."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good! You're finally asking the right questions," Sherlock sarcastically praised as he slipped on his gloves, "Now next time, try to do earlier without insulting me and my colleagues."

With that, Sherlock strutted out of the room, John and Darcy on his tail. All three were pleased to get out of that flat. Out in the open as they tried to hail a taxi, Darcy stuffed her hands in her pants pockets to warm them up. She looked at the floor, trying to think up the right way of thanking Sherlock and John for defended her.

"You were upset," she looked up into those grey eyes, "when he called you a freak."

"Well, most people don't like to be called a freak."

"You're not most people though. Why?" his eyes were intently probing her, making her shy away.  
"Maybe it's because I like being normal sometimes. I'm not like you, Sherlock. I know when to keep my mouth shut and pretend to be ordinary."

"Being ordinary sounds simply dreadful. Letting yourself go to waste..."

Her eyes flashed, "I'm at least modest, unlike yourself."

"You are-"

"Sherlock, let Darcy be," John firmly said. He huffed, eyes still on Darcy, but stated silent as the taxi parked in front of them.

"221b Bakerstreet, please," she ordered the taxi driver as they sped off.

"But Darcy," John protested, "We have to tell Sebastian about Van Coon's murder!"

"You can, but I have a date in an hour and a half. I need to change, or at least grab a coat."

Sherlock grimaced, "I told you he wasn't worth your time. We have more important thing to do."  
"It's just a date, Sherlock, no need to get prissy about it. He's a very nice guy and I don't feel like turning him down, case or no case."

"Ugh, you can be so boring," he scoffed, trying his best to not look hurt.

"If you think that, than you can go pay the taxi and solve the case without me. After all, I'm just boring!" Darcy shouted as the taxi came to a halt and she swung the door open.

"Darcy-"

She didn't hear whatever John was trying to say as she angrily slammed it shut and march up the steps to 221b. It didn't matter if Sherlock had come to her defense or not, there was no way she would let him call her boring!

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Jim Moriarty was drumming his fingers on a table at Angelo's, painfully bored. His pretty little unboring date would be arriving shortly, but Sebastian would call him first. He should be calling him, Jim thought, gritting his teeth.

_"Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin'-"_

"Hello Sebby!" Jim quickly picked up the phone, "Tell. Now."

"Well, boss, you're date is something else. Darcy Lent was almost impossible to find. She's erased herself well, but-"

"But you found her?" Jim sat up.

"Everything."

Jim stopped tapping, his back straighten, voice deadly, "Who is she then?"

Sebastian was silent for a moment, "Darcy Lent used to be a hacker."

"Really?" he purred, curious. It seems Sherlock Holmes' neighbor wasn't entirely on the side of the angels, "Who'd she work for?"

"No one."

"Oh, a rouge? Boooooring..."

"No, boss," Sebastian gruffly said, "Darcy Lent wasn't just a hacker, she was the hacker."

"The hacker?" Jim griped the mobile tight, "Seb, don't you dare lying to me; is it really her?"

"She's The Lady. Boss, I-"

He hung up, pocketing the mobile in his suit's breast pocket. Oh, he grinned, this was better than he'd ever planned. The Lady. One of the most powerful women and she'd disappeared. He'd once kept track of her, curious if she'd be a foe or ally for his web, but had forgotten all about her when she vanished. Now she was back as a seemingly innocent woman named Darcy.

He needn't worry now about Sherlock's neighbor being on the side of the angels...

Darcy Lent wasn't an angel in the slightest.

"Richard!"

Jim looked up, putting a pleasant expression on his face. Darcy herself was standing in the doorway, smiling innocently. Her hair was still pulled up in a bun, but her simple black dress was much more revealing. He did appreciate her curves...

"Hello, Darcy. Please, take a seat. You look stunning."

"Oh," she flushed demurely, "thank you."

She was perfect, he thought as they ordered. Darcy would be a crown jewel to his web, ever pretty, smart and dangerous. Sebastian would finally have some competition as well.  
He took her hand to affirm that she would soon be his possession, which made her smile in the candle light, utterly oblivious.

It would be easy to make Darcy fall in love with him. The harder part would be to convince The Lady to return.

But he did love a challenge...

**Luxa: Oh dear, Jim is up to his old tricks! Thanks for the reviews! Everything is always cherished!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Unfocused **

"Richard, thank you for tonight... It was absolutely lovely."

His brown eyes lit up when he smiled sweetly at her as he escorted her to the front door of 221b. Her heart was thudded and it terrified her. He was so sweet, albeit posh, but very kind. He had even let her wear his coat on the walk home. The way he squeezed her hand made her dizzy. It was almost to good to be true.

"I had a swell time with you. You're a really great gal, Darcy." Richard leaned in, "Absolutely beautiful..."

She flushed at the complement and was caught off guard as his lips touched hers. Arms were tightly wrapped around her waist, grinding them together. His tongue burned in her mouth. He was so dominating, so intense with his kisses and the way his lips now trailed down her neck A part of her wanted to leave his arms and run up the stair and crash on Sherlock's couch, but she-

Darcy froze, not kissing back anymore. Sherlock. The case. She shouldn't be out now, kissing men. She had a case to unravel.

She had people to prove herself to.

"Richard. Richard, dear. I have to go."

He stopped showering kisses on her neck, "Oh. Yes."

"Don't think of me being rude," she plead at his disappointed look, "I enjoyed tonight, everything, truly. But I have lots of things to do tomorrow."

"Will I see you again sometime? Another date."

"Y-Yes, of course."

"Good," he murmured as he slowly trailed kissed on her jawbone, "that's all I need."

Darcy took a step back, feeling disoriented, "Goodnight."

"Yes, a very good night indeed."

He gave her one more deep kiss before he walked off, leaving her paralyzed on the front step. The cold air did nothing to clear her head. In a daze, Darcy stumbled up the stairs to the upper flat. If anyone could bring her back down to reality. It'd be the cold, sociopathic detective.

"Finally back are you? Lasted longer than expected. I thought you'd ditch him after he would suggest you two go to his place." Sherlock wasn't facing her, but staring up at the ceiling as he lied on the couch, not even recognizing the fact she'd entered five minutes earlier.

He had noticed though, of course. Her lips bruised, flyaways in her once neat bun, and a man's Westwood jacket hiding her simple dress. She was sitting in his chair, not that he bothered to inform her.

"He didn't suggest going to his place, he brought me home, but you already knew that though. You just feel like mocking me. By the way, where's John?"

"Asleep. Apparently he has some interview at a hospital tomorrow, how mundane."

She sighed, ankles crossing as she shifted in her chair, "We all need to have a job. That's how life is."

Sherlock turned, now facing her, "He should be focused. We have a case gong on and he's lollygaging around like he has no care in the world, doing job interviews!"

"And because of this, you are upset at John and I. We're being boring and dull by trying to live normal lives. Getting jobs on going on date"

"Exactly."

Darcy crossed her arms, "I'm losing focus on this case, even if I take time off as well for just a brief date."

"Focused, you think you're focused?"

Sherlock's laugh was cold and mocking. He leaped off the couch and paced towards her, his eyes sharply gleaming. Darcy felt as if a hot knife of guilt was being plunged into her stomach, causing her to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"You aren't focused in the slightest, Lent, acting like a lovestruck fool. Completely spaced out, that's what you are. Absolutely thick as a brick because all you have is love on the brain. It's causing your mind to rot."

Having enough of this, she stood up, "That's a load of rubbish. I can deduce perfectly well!"

"Oh really?" He smirked at her, "Then tell me, where did John and I meet Sebastian to tell him Van Coon was murdered?"

She wet her lip, anxiously. She looked over him, looking for clues, observations, anything that could help her. But all she could think of was that Richard's second favorite (due to how worn in it was) coat was on her, that the cufflinks were heirlooms of Irish decent, and that there was a fiver in the left inside pocket.

"I- T-That's irreverent right now."

Sherlock looked triumphant, "You can't do it, can you? Your emotions make you weak, Lent. This is why you need to let them go and unlock your potential."

"Half the time you sound like you're against me but then you make it sound like you want me to work with you."

"If you stopped trying to be normal, let your emotions overrun you, and actually helped, then maybe I would want to work with you," he told her with frustration seeping into his voice. True, some of the things he was saying were lies, but he was becoming irritated with her. Darcy was suddenly so fixated with this man who was practically a stranger when had better things to do like solve a case with him and John.

They were so close to touching, Darcy looking up at him, enraged. She had known that he had been trying to test her, to see if he could trust her. But he was taking it to far. And as much as she hated it, his words stung her pride. She suddenly longed for Jim, who had smiled kindly and called beautiful.

"Do you know why," her voice trembled with rage, "why I try to act normal? There's a reason why I let my emotions overrun me and I'm not a sociopath. It's because I don't want to be thought as a robot or a freak! I just want to be like everyone else sometimes!"

The tickle in her throat hurt, but she refused to tear up in front of him. Darcy looked away, not wanted to see what his face would tell her. She broken out of her lovesick haze, now back to being 'Darcy the genius'. Darcy the freak.

His hand took hers, awkwardly, as if he wasn't used to comforting someone. It was cool and relaxed her.

"You are smart, there is no debating that, but if you want to get far in being a consulting detective, you need to learn how to separate work from your so called 'normal' life."

"Oh, so you think I am going to become a consulting detective? And here I thought you were the only one in the world."

"Perhasps you could be one as well, if you didn't spend so much time doing unimportant things. I know who you are and I know what damage you are capable of doing, so you cannot blame me for taking the proper precautions. I knew who uyou used to be, don't forget."

"You don't know who I am, Sherlock Holmes, and you certainly don't know what I am capable of."

Jaws clenched, they glared at eachother mistrustfully. Sherlock wondered for a brief moment if he had pushed her too far, but he then cast that thought aside. It didn't matter how she emotionally felt, the data he was getting was astounding

By the way she gritted her teeth, he could tell that she visited her dentist twice a year. Her finger trembled when she was infuriated, tap on her thigh in a pattern. One, two, three, four, repeated over and over.

"I know what you are capable of, I've seen you in action," he whispered in her ear, "I have taken you down, and now I want to build you up."

Her eyes widened, "It was you. You helped Mycroft track me down? And now you want to help me become a good person because you believe I'm not capable of doing it myself?"

"I never said-"

"But you thought it," Darcy rounded on him, poking hin in the chest. "Didn't you? Why can't you just accept the fact that I'm not The Lady anymore? Is it that hard to believe that I want to help you?"

Sherlock's face hardened, "Yes, it is hard for me to believe anything you say. I cannot trust you and I will not trust you untill you prove yourself."

Darcy's eyes were blotchy now, but she refused to cry. Not only did he not trust her, but now she couldn't trust him. He had turned her into Mycroft. Raising her hand to slap him, fueled by hatred, she was shocked when Sherlock grabbed her by the wrist.

"Don't," he whispered, "do anymore things you are going to regret later, Lent."

She looked so tired, makeup smudged, hair rumpled. For a fraction of a moment, she leaned into him, Darcy's forehead nearly grazing his purple button down as he held onto her wrist tightly, not even caring what her pulse was this time. As quick as it came, the moment vanished. Darcy turned away and hurried out of the flat, tightly wrapping the suitcoat around her frame. Sherlock watched her go, letting his guilt raise for a second before suppressing it.

This was how it was supposed to be. He needed to trust her before they could work together. It didn't matter, he thought as he picked up his violin, if her simpleminded feelings were hurt in the process.

"Sh'lock, wha going on? " John sleepily murmered as he opened the door, "I heard some noises and jus' saw Darcy run down the stairs."

"Just an argument that's all."

John suddenly became more alert, "Oh good lord... What did you say that insulted her?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Why do you instantly assume that I insulted her and not the other way around?"

"Because I know you two and I know that you're a bloodly idiot when comes to saying things that require a delicate precision. So what you tell her?"

"I may have told her that I don't trust her at all, I still think she could easily return to her former criminal lifestyle, and that I basically work with her till she proves herself to me."

"Sherlock," he groaned, "no wonder she ran out if the bloody room! She's probably going to mope around her room all day tomorrow and refuse to help me cook dinner and it's all your fault."

Sherlock merely put his violin under his chin as a miffed John continued to reprimand him. He glanced out the window, and smirked. His suspicions were confirmed as he saw Darcy walk across the street, heading in the right direction towards Scotland Yard.

"John, I don't think Ms. Lent will be with us for the rest of this case."

"Why? You think she going to hold a grudge that long?"

"No," his eyes were glued on her, "I think she'll be busy with a few cases of her own."

John huffed, "Sometimes I have no idea what your going on about. Well, goodnight. I'm gonna go get some rest, cos I have a feeling we'll be running about for the next couple days. And don't forget I have that interview!"

"How couldn't I forget..." Sherlock mumbled as John shuffled back into the hall.

"Oh," John appeared again in the doorway, "and Sherlock? Try not to insult and torment our downstairs neighbor too much? I don't see why you are so hard on her..."

After John was long gone, he finally replied to the empty room.

"Because I think she might really have something special but I don't want her to know that. Not yet."

He then his violin played for three hours straight after his confession and then smoked a whole pack of his well hidden cigarettes because Darcy Lent bothered him so much and he didn't know exactly why.


End file.
